


Warcraft

by chiixil_84



Series: Acquisitive Adventurers [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Azeroth, Death Knight, Death Knights - Freeform, Demon, Demons, Drabble, Draenor, Flash Fiction, Gen, OC, OCs - Freeform, Old God, Old Gods, Priest, Warlock - Freeform, Warlocks, Warrior - Freeform, World of Warcraft - Freeform, World of Warcraft: Cataclysm, World of Warcraft: Legion, World of Warcraft: Mists of Pandaria, World of Warcraft: The Burning Crusade, World of Warcraft: Warlords of Draenor, World of Warcraft: Wrath of the Lich King, outland - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-09-16 01:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16944585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiixil_84/pseuds/chiixil_84
Summary: Drabbles of my original characters, npcs, the warcraft universe itself -- these have no real home other than they're just things outside of the line of the main story, but still deserve a place to be written down in.





	1. Odyn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fury warrior always finds herself in a fight, even if it's not in her best interests.

“ ** _What?_** ”

His voice rang out across the hall, the bellow’s shockwave crashing into everyone in its path with the rage of a tsunami. The once-merry chattering came to an eerie halt as the champions of valor turned to face their lord, a thick tension pulled across Valhalla.

K’ure kept her gaze upon the Keeper, her brow furrowing as her agitation grew. “I said, I couldn’t give a  _shit_ about what you want, Odyn.”

And it was true: for the decades she had been fighting on, for, and with Azeroth, the Pantheon (and all of the creatures aligned with it) brought only destruction. The  _only_  work the Keepers created that the draenei would just barely consider decent were the earthen and vrykul, and even then it took millennia more for those creations to mutate enough to become the entities she fought alongside in the Alliance.

No; she was  _done_  fighting others’ wars, especially with someone with a temper as Odyn’s.

The tension grew as the Keeper stood to his full height, dwarfing the draenei by dozens of feet. “And how, pray tell,” the lord rumbled, his voice just a hiss of steam, “do you plan to defeat the Legion without  _my_  help?”

The warrior could feel his rage rolling off of him like magma erupting from the earth, the skin she had exposed to Odyn's rage surely needing burn treatment once she left this place, but she did not (and would not) waver under his anger.

Rather, she gritted her teeth against the pain and replied, “Since when have I needed your help before?”

A moment passed, and then another, and as another came and went K’ure thought she would smitten and forbid from returning to Valhalla (as if she really wanted to return), until:

 _Odyn laughed._  The heat subsided as he returned to his seat, his once-thunderous bellow changing into an earth-shaking belly laugh as he said with a nonchalant wave of his hand, “You champions are truly wondrous. It is a shame it took millennia for us to meet, for how our alliance would have changed the very battlefield!”

The hall returned to its merriment, drinking and eating and chattering of heroes of times long since passed, and K'ure felt the physical oppression of Odyn’s might slowly release her.

As she turned away from the Keeper and walked down the path to the val’kyr, the draenei could feel the gaze of Odyn burning into her back.

 _He will always hold a grudge,_  she heard the whispers of Helya echo in her mind, the memory of the old val’kyr’s scarred face twisted in anger and curiosity.  _No matter how slight the wrongdoing, he will make you pay._

Perhaps K’ure should stay away from Valhalla as often as she could; these Order Halls did not appear to be as safe as Khadgar promised they would be. 

“ _What?_ ”  
  
His voice rang out across the hall, the bellow’s shockwave crashing into everyone in its path with the rage of a tsunami. The once-merry chattering came to an eerie halt as the champions of valor turned to face their lord, a thick tension pulled across Valhalla.  
  
K’ure kept her gaze upon the Keeper, her brow furrowing as her agitation grew. “I said, I couldn’t give a  _shit_  about what you want, Odyn.”  
  
And it was true: for the decades she had been fighting on, for, and with Azeroth, the Pantheon (and  _ _all__  of the creatures aligned with it) brought only destruction. The work this faction created that the draenei would just barely consider  _decent_  were the earthen and vrykul, and even then it took millennia more for those creations to mutate enough to become the entities she fought alongside in the Alliance.  
  
The tension grew as the Keeper stood to his full height, dwarfing the draenei by dozens of feet. “And how, pray tell,” the lord rumbled, his voice just a hiss of steam, “do you plan to defeat the Legion without my help?”  
  
The warrior could feel his rage rolling off of him like magma erupting from the earth, the skin exposed to Odyn’s rage  _surely_  needing burn treatment once she left this place, but she did not (and would not) waver under his anger.  
  
Rather, she gritted her teeth against the pain and replied, “Since when have I needed your help before?”  
  
A moment passed, and then another, and as another came and went K’ure thought she would be smote and forbid from returning to Valhalla (as if she really wanted to return), until:  
  
Odyn  _laughed_. The heat subsided as he returned to his seat, his once-thunderous bellow changing into an earth-shaking belly laugh as he said with a nonchalant wave of his hand, “You champions are truly wondrous. It is a shame it took millennia for us to meet, for how our alliance would have changed the very battlefield!”  
  
The hall returned to its merriment, drinking and eating and chattering of heroes of times long since passed, and K’ure felt the physical oppression of Odyn’s might slowly release her.  
  
As she turned away from the Keeper and walked down the path to the val’kyr, the draenei could feel the gaze of Odyn burning into her back.  
  
_He will always hold a grudge,_  she heard the whispers of Helya echo in her mind, the memory of the old val’kyr’s scarred face twisted in anger and curiosity.  _No matter how slight the wrongdoing._  
  
Perhaps K’ure should stay away from Valhalla as often as she could; these Order Halls did not appear to be as safe as Khadgar promised they would be.


	2. Roaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No matter which planet a person passes through the Shadow Lands, the creatures (and therein lasting, unresolved emotions) that reside there are the same.

The land of shadow and death was a realm few dared roam, and fewer still who freely passed the threshold to interact with the denizens. Though it was an exact reflection of the realm of the living, it was simply that: a devastating void of any true color, warmth, or life.

Spirits, creatures of the shadow, and entities older than time itself were the only “life” that existed in this place, targeting those daring (or stupid) champions that shifted between the realms for their own nefarious plans.

Death knights, priests, and warlocks walked through the vast emptiness of this realm, as common as one might walk down to the marketplace. Living on the cusp of these two worlds, they held several advantages, and therefore disadvantages, when passing the veil of either place: death knights gained the ability to draw power from the Shadow Lands to wreak havoc on the living, yet risked losing their sanity the longer they remained among the dead; priests could view souls in either realm and (depending on their specific classification) could reach out and interact with these souls while in either realm, but the deeper they reached while standing firmly in the opposite world, the easier it would be to corrupt even the holiest of practitioners; and warlocks, in the Shadow Lands, seemed to be insurmountable in power even to the oldest of creatures in the realm, but would immediately be sought out and ceaselessly tormented by any and all nearby entities.

For Nezzrra, she felt that the ability to slip between this threshold was more advantageous than hellish, having been very lucky for many thousands of years by warding off those who wished to harm (or, in the very least, interact with) her with little to no effort.

She often dared the realm of the dead rather than the Twisting Nether, for even if she had devoted her soul to its incomprehensible meanings, she was not as powerful in the latter realm as she was in the former; the Sin’dorei would not allow herself the inopportune slip-up in the Twisting Nether and have the demons, both in her control and otherwise, to overpower her and make her their minion.

Besides, the Shadow Lands were often quiet for her – and, dare she say,  _peaceful_.

However, when she had been caught up in the Siege of Orgrimmar, her luck had run out.

After the trial of Garrosh Hellscream, Kairozdormu’s inevitable betrayal, and the campaign throughout both Draenor and the Broken Isles, Nezzrra found herself often screamed at, hounded, truly tormented on her intrusion into their world. Never had she dealt with this before, and wondered why –  _why_ , after almost five thousand years of her hopping between worlds – did the trip to Argus lead her to true Hellscape the Shadow Lands were?

Though Nezzrra could use charms and some blessings to ignore the angered, drowned spirits of Queen Azshara’s citizens for a short period of time, the curses and defensive spells the naga queen had placed upon her ancient cities almost seemed to purposefully seek her out whilst in the Broken Isles, leaving the warlock in very dangerous situations as the wards were ripped to shreds.

Upon returning to Dalaran, or the Dreadscar Rift, or Undercity, Nezzrra would have to rest and fully rejuvenate herself in healing magicks –  _healing! magicks!_ _by actual priests!_ – before she could venture out into the world again, lest the dead find her even in the land of the living.

There was only so much a warlock could endure, and it did not seem like she was the only entity dabbling in demonic magicks that was affected by Queen Azshara’s curses.

Perhaps it was a way to bring a fraction of the champions down and away from their campaign against the Tomb of Sargeras; quite possibly, the queen might have been  _toying_  with the warlocks; maybe, it was not the queen’s doing at all, and something far older had a hand to play in this.

The Sin’dorei hoped she would never find out.


	3. Welcome to Kul Tiras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn is a new face to the old routine, but K'ure follows him anyway. Maybe he knows what he's doing?

She really hated Kul Tiras, and she’d barely taken ten steps into the fortress.

They were escorted to meet Admiral Proudmoore, then thrown into jail.

_Though,_  K’ure mused, groaning as a splitting migraine erupted along her skull,  _this isn’t necessarily my first time in jail._

She guessed the champions of the Alliance deserved it, seeing as how their recent endeavors left half the planet in ruins, another world entirely under the tyrannical rule of the Lightbound, and hundreds of thousands of Azerothians displaced due to the war.

Could be worse, she supposed, looking around the terribly kept cell. Perhaps she could force her way through the bars, if the rust on the metal was anything to go by...

“Hey!” a voice came through the wall, its owner making obnoxious  _pssst_ noises to get her attention. Rolling her eyes, the draenei turned to the wall, looking for the source of the noise. “Through here!” the voice continued, sticking his entire forearm through the net-covered hole between their cells.

Standing up, the draenei hobbled over to the hand, watching it snake back through the thick netting. “Some department of justice we have here, hm?” he asked, his laugh echoing as he spoke. K’ure had to crouch, but she could see half of his face through the net-covered hole, his seafoam eyes taking up nearly half of what she could see. She gave him a nonchalant grunt in response.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat as he moved away from the hole. “It seems like you’re in a bit of a mess, aren’t you?”

Before she could even attempt a response, he pushed a few bricks into her room, causing the entire wall to collapse pathetically. “Now then! Proper introductions are in order, hmm? My name’s Flynn, and I’m your ticket out of this Hellhole.”

“Come here often?” the warrior half-joked, giving his outstretched hand a quick shake. He made a face and a sarcastic laugh, but she could tell that this wasn’t his first time being in jail, either.

This jail in specifics, too, it seemed.

“Do you do this for fun?” K’ure asked as they fought their way through the overgrown lizards and rats dispersed through the corridors, working their way to freedom.

“Only on Tuesdays,” he replied, grunting as he pushed a grate away to expose the fresh sea air. “Ah, here we are! Just down this way and we’ll get--”

“ _Hey! Stop right there!_ ”

Both turned, neither seeing this guard as anything more than another quick enemy to take care of, but weren’t able to move before a giant beast came and ran off with the guard like a dog’s chew toy.

“Oh well,” Flynn sighed, giving a sarcastic half-salute to the beast as she ran off with the guard. “Guess I’ll see you next week then, my queen.”

K’ure wasn’t going to ask any questions she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kul Tiras's jail scenario was fun; I ended up glitching through the entire scenario near the boat and went right back to the beginning, so, fun lol.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Short snippet that I posted on my tumblr; thought I'd update here.


	4. Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old gods are absolutely monstrous entities with immense powers beyond normal comprehension. It took the entire Pantheon (and then some) to even subdue only a handful of them, leaving an unknown amount of these entities left buried deep within Azeroth.
> 
> However, there is one of these entities that is just absolutely pathetic.

He wasn’t a god, nor was he a demon. 

Hell, he wasn’t even  _recognized_ by the world, let alone feared by it.

The creature had taken far too long to find its way to Azeroth, burying itself  _far too deep_ to be noticed, taking even longer to find a spot to call its cancerous home, and, in his absentmindedness, a general of another  _Yerets’_ ararats had taken the grounds  _right above_  his head.

H’di was driven to insanity with the insolence of the world.

 _He_  had been the one to call to the elves across the sea;  _he_  had been the one the faeries sacrificed to in their drunkenness;  _he_  had been the one that urged the forsaken to rise and go mad.

Yet others had come to claim the glory for his hard work.

While his anger brewed, his connection to Azeroth strengthened over the eons, pulling him closer to the world and its happenings despite his deep roots; he decided that he couldn’t just stand by and watch as the world burned by everyone else’s hands.

So he began to plan, but, as usual, he was late with this, too.

By the time he had everything planned, the insects crawling upon this ill-fated world _dared_ to come and face him.

 _How could it have failed so horribly?_  

The pathetic old god wrestled with his power, feeling it bubbling through him like a snail falling into a pool of salt, and his very existence began to tear as his connections to Azeroth were being destroyed. 

 _Nothing you thought you had done was your own accomplishment_ , the insolent adventurers had taunted.  _Laughable, weak, parasitic._  

But he had nothing else to keep him here, but his actions. 

What else was he if he wasn’t the blight of Azeroth?

H’di would be damned before he left without taking some of these insects with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> H'di sucks, he's a whiny baby that can't get anything done right, but he can manipulate more than what he may seem he can.
> 
> Y'know, because he's just a literal parasite.


	5. Warm Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nezzrra and Sungrisk find new and exciting ways to warm up in the lava tubes of the Howling Fjord's mountains. From an ask on my tumblr!

The Howling Fjord was not the kindest of environments, nor the easiest to put down roots. The screaming winds that gave the glaciated valley its name roared with terrifying ferocity, whipping around the mountain peaks with a fervor that left the rest of the valley fighting the bitter cold. It held some natural pools and rivers that brought warm waters from the south into its frigid lands, but the warmth only seemed to anger the winds more at its presence.

However, far beneath the highest peaks in this damned fjord (and deeper still from the shrieking breeze), sat long-forgotten lava tubes from the world’s formation.

And here, the Howling Fjord was the warmest.

Far away from any major hub, many – Horde and Alliance – traveled here to gather strength and comfort in the geothermic veins still bristling with life. Though the fjord was far from many  _important_  objectives to the Northrend campaign, it gave the frostbitten and fur-encased soldiers a moment of reprieve, even if it provided only false safety.

For one particular undead troll, he basked in this falsehood if it meant he wouldn’t be so damn  _cold_.

Sungrisk could not even bear to leave the cavern most days, the cold affecting the death knight in ways even he couldn’t fully understand; no amount of layers, nor spells or charms, could keep him from feeling like he was freezing to a second death.

His companion, snickering, offered her infernal as a personal mount for the death knight so they could carry on to the next step of their journey.

“I would ratha be an eldtrich’s morning  _shit_ than take up ya offer, warlock,” he replied through gritted teeth, his tusks shaking uncontrollably despite the death knight sitting right at the edge of their room’s fireplace.

_He wouldn’t subject himself to being her plaything; he was above this!_

Biting back a laugh, Nezzrra lazily waved her hand in the air as she said, fake-pouting, “Fine, have fun being a little shit.” She turned away and headed towards their bedroom, saying in a sing-song voice, “There are other ways of staying warm than by playing with fire.”

Noticing him staring, the warlock played with her robes as she sauntered into the room, winking just before she went out of sight.

He slowly forced himself to stand, aching the farther away from the fire he got but  _damn him_  if he didn’t go see what other ways she insinuated.

Upon entering the room, a wave of brimstone hit his nostrils that made him immediately retch.

“ _You witch!_ ” he choked out, eyes watering and ears ringing as her laughter filled his ears.

Before he could retreat, the infernal swept Sungrisk into its arms, attempting to cuddle the retching, wriggling death knight like a toddler for a nap.

“You’ll thank me later, love,” she murmured in the sing-song voice again, humming as she went to go lay down.

“I’ll  _neva_ forgive you,” he coughed, grudgingly settling into the infernal, knowing that the struggle was useless.

She gave another lazy wave in response.

(He wouldn’t admit it then, but the warmth of the demon was a  _much_  more comfortable situation than what he had been dealing with since coming to this frozen Hell.)

(He also promised to never complain about Orgrimmar’s heat ever again.)


	6. Inspired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nezzrra learns a few lessons, and makes a few promises. Based off of an ask from tumblr!

“Come on, concentrate!”

With sweat pouring down the back of her neck into the collar of her thick robes, a small, so,  _so_ young Nezzrra held up twisted fingers in the direction of an apple. She and her parents had been at this practice for hours, to conjure  _any_ sort of magicks. She was so clumsy with the usual incantations and gestures, her parents had decided to push her to do a more hands-on, wands-free learning.

She wanted to go to school and learn how to do this, why was this magick  _so hard_ , but she had been told many times that this was a type of magick their family held dearly. _It needed to stay in the family,_  her parents would say, their stares speaking a million words that Nezzrra couldn’t understand but knew she couldn’t go against her parent’s wishes.

Failure wasn’t an option, either, and each time she would give less-than-perfect performances her parents would look so...

Disappointed.

In this moment, her parents stood a few feet from her, encouragement clear in their hushed words as they urged her on. Nezzrra felt their eyes boring into her as she desperately tried –  _I’m trying, Mama, but I can’t! I’m not strong like you, Papa!_  – to make any sort of magick spill from her. She had been given charms, foci, enchantments to aid her usage...

Nothing worked.

“You’ve got this, darling,” her father murmured, his feet shuffling as his words quieted further.

Panting, her brow furrowed in pain and exhaustion, the young High Elf cried, the sweat and tears indiscriminate on her face, “I–I  _can’t!_  I don’t know how to–”

Instantly, Nezzrra’s parents swooped her into their arms, cooing and whispering loving words to her as they whisked her into their home. The cool air from the building chilled the young High Elf to her bones, but the familiar hold of her parents made her unafraid, even if she was thoroughly disappointed.

“You did your best, my little mana wyrm,” her mother said, planting a kiss on Nezzrra’s forehead.

Nodding, gently placing her on a plush couch, her father added, “So very good! I think I could see a spark that time!”

Too tired to argue, too angry to express her displeasure at her obvious failure, Nezzrra replied pitifully, “I only want to be as good as you.”

Her parents shared a different look, another one of those adult things she would understand ‘when she got older,’ before they said in unison, “We are done talking about this today.”

Patting her head, her mother stated simply, “Let’s go get you changed and ready for your afternoon music lessons, shall we, Nezzy?”

Sighing, she hopped off the too-familiar couch and followed her mother up the stairs, counting the dozens of steps out of boredom as she sluggishly went up.

“When will I have my own imp?” Nezzrra whined as her mother drew the bath, using her fire magick to heat up the tub. “You and Papa already have infernals, Mama, I want–”

Her mother swooped her into her arms tightly once again, planting kisses all over Nezzrra’s flushed face. Between each kiss, her mother replied, “You know you aren’t allowed to talk about this stuff outside of the courtyard, my tart! Your father and I can only teach you so much, so quickly–”

“Why can’t I just go to school to become a warlock, Mama?” she whispered between giggles. “I don’t want to be another  _mage_  to tend to the _mana wyrms_ , or a priest to heal someone’s bad hair! That’s not interesting at all. I want to make the choice in my profession, like you and Papa.”

Pausing, holding her daughter close, the mother whispered, her words heavy, “There are some things you shouldn’t sell your soul for, Nezzrra. This is a family secret we must keep, with your father and I teaching you only what is necessary for you to be protected until you can make that choice for yourself.” Another kiss on the forehead, and her mother once more urged the child to not talk about it again.

Nezzrra agreed, believing her mother’s words of caution, believing she would understand some day.

Until the infernals were in her living room a few years later, her parents’ corpses burning a sickly green in the once-luscious, now ashen, room. A hooved, red creature with a tail as long as her bed and horns that scraped the ceiling laughed as her parents’ screams died down, its golden eyes swerving in unison with the infernals’ green ones to stare at her.

That day, as she was left alone in the house to clean up her parents’ bodies, Nezzrra swore she’d learn what that thing was and own it.

She would make _it_ pay.


	7. Can't Help Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Was an ask from forever ago, asking when did one of my couples fall in love/decided they fell in love with the other person. Here's the result for Ereish and Totality!

“Why did you do it,  _paladin?_ “ Ereish snarled, tears of pure anger welling in the corner of her eyes. “Why did you  _lie_  to me? Were you trying to get that bounty on my head, or did you simply enjoy the act of abandoning me?”

Standing before her, armorless and weaponless, the paladin wore a casual outfit despite knowing the fury he faced with the rogue. Despite her interrogation, he remained silent for most of it, looking sullen.

“ _Tell me!_ ” she screamed again when he refused to answer, _furious_ he was ignoring her.

“It was your eyes.”

Breathing heavily, her rage-filled expression slowly began to melt as she worked through the words. The rogue’s grip on the daggers tightened as her posture straightened, no longer readying for an attack against the paladin yet still obviously willing to do so.

“So you’re saying my eyes were the reason you  _betrayed_  me?” Ereish asked, her tone dripping with venom. “You are absolutely pathetic. You and your whole fucking  _Order!_ ” She made a movement to swipe a dagger at him, but he easily sidestepped the motion, only infuriating her more.

She could always easily defeat him in a duel situation; she couldn’t believe that _now_ was the moment he decided to be better than her?

“Stop this!” the rogue yelled, readying for another charge. “I can’t  _believe_ you’re still doing this to me!”

He shook his head as he regained his stance, his expression defeated yet calm. “Your eyes were the reason I kept coming back, Ereish.”

“How?” she asked, the raw of her throat rubbing harshly against her words, the rogue unable to fathom how –  _how_  – he could be telling the truth. She readjusted her stance, feeling the fury sludge like poison through her veins. It would kill her at this rate. if she didn’t go mad first.

He explicitly stated he absolutely  _hated_  her, from the moment their pact started. He would constantly remind her of the fact that he loathed that she saved his life, and that the only reason why he entered into the “I owe you my life” deal was because he would have been disowned if his parents (or the Order) ever found out.

In the blink of an eye, the distance between her and Totality closed as he took a few strides toward her, looking down at her with a storm raging across his face.

Despite the anger flowing through her, Ereish’s grip on the daggers waned the longer they stared at each other. She hated the confusion swelling in her gut with the way Totality looked at her, but couldn’t force her hands to move to strike him.

“They’re truly your soul’s windows,” the paladin murmured eventually, his voice too soft, too kind, too  _much_  for her.

Swallowing against the dryness in her throat, Ereish turned her back to him, her breathing labored.

Only this time, she was trying to not cry rather than dice him up.

“Why?” she managed, her lips quivering pitifully as her thoughts screamed at her to run away. She feared if she spoke further, she’d start blubbering; she didn’t want to look weak, least of all in front of him, not after what he _did_.

Totality ever-so-carefully wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, placing his chin on her shoulder as he embraced her. He remained silent for a long while, holding her in this gentle embrace, and eventually told the distraught rogue, “I see more than just the road with you,  _Dalah'surfal_.”

She stiffened under his arms, but rather than struggling she pushed back into his chest.

Her weapons falling to the ground, she swung around in his embrace to fling her arms around his neck, asking between her shaky breaths, “But, this? Everything that’s happened?  _Why_ , Zel’ik?”

Holding the back of her head with one hand and pressing the other into the small of her back, pulling her closer despite her armor, he nuzzled his lips against her ear as he whispered, his own words shaking, “I would never have left you had I been given any other choice. You know how the Order can be.” Her grip on his collar tightened as he spoke. He pressed on, his words sincere, “Until you, I felt like I was missing a part of myself. Nothing I did ever filled it, and pushing myself through the Order’s ranks only made that hole worse.”

He pulled away slightly to look into her eyes, moving the hand from her head to push back the hair sticking to her red face. “It wasn’t until I met you that I realized what I’d been missing all of my life.”

“A mess to clean up after?” she offered, her voice weak, eyes searching, walls still attempting to guard her emotions.

“A reason beyond the Order to worry about someone other than myself, for once.” His brow furrowed as he added quickly, his words breathy and low at his confession, “I love you. I can’t see myself living my life without you in it, the Order be damned.”

Her bottom lip quivering pitifully once more, the rogue asked, “ _When?_ ”

“A couple of weeks after meeting you.” He smiled weakly, his eyes lighting up in that  _too much_  way. “It was the evening you and I attended the summer’s festival that I decided that was what I felt for you.”

Her face turned a color that would put even the brightest flame to shame.

“What?” he laughed, pressing his lips into hers.

Quietly, she whispered into the kiss, “Me, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty sure this is never going to happen anymore for their cannon journeys either, sadly. Too many changes in their lives shaped their lives differently than what I had originally planned, but hey! Cute story anyway.


	8. Worthy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demon hunters have always had a difficult time to show their resolve to the illidari cause, and often go to great lengths that leave them in dangerous situations.

when a demon hunter finishes their trials, the newly created hunters are given the task of finding a pit lord.

“kill an annihilan,” their lord would hiss, his glowing sockets fierce as he judged them. “prove to me your resolve.”

sacrificing their eyes would only be the first step of losing their attachments to the world; the next would be their soul.

when a pit lord would fall, those who had a hand in its slaying were given the right to carve out a bone from its decaying body to form their ritualistic khanj’shayt – “demon ribs,” so aptly named – to show others how much they were willing to sacrifice for their cause.

with the khanj’shayt, they did not just gain a new weapon – the hunters would be given a piece of the pit lord’s heart to consume as well, building their own powers as they lessened the legion’s. the new connection with the heart of the pit lord offered powers over the blade other weapons would not, including the ability to track their enemies.

the blade would glow – if the burning heart of a dying star was a mere  _glow_ – as the predators chased their prey, leading the way to strongholds in the fel-encased landscapes of the outer realms. it was both an honor and curse to hold such a blade.

on the day Dalaran was to be invaded, all khanj’shayts on the floating city were burning fiercely, blindingly,  _angry_ ; those that were unlucky enough to touch it without having adapted themselves to the energies inside the bone were scarred horribly.

as the entire legion’s focus turned towards the ancient purple city, the demon hunters warned the Azerothians did not even have half of a day to prepare – yet, their leaders squabbled like children over whether or not the demon hunters were trustworthy; sane;  _non-demon enough_.

when the legion crashed into the floating city of Dalaran, the demon hunters felt no pity for the lives lost; they had warned the leaders to prepare, to run, to fight, and their warnings were unheeded.

many khanj’shayts were earned on the day Azeroth was invaded once more. 

the unworthy would prove their resolve, one way or another.


	9. Lordaeron's Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: what is a dream your muse has?
> 
> Well, Ereish doesn't tend to dream often. When she does, it's often horrible things she never tells anyone, ever.

She’d never been to this part of the forgotten city before.

As she wandered through the ancient city’s ruins, the blood elf wondered why the palace wasn’t ever used; she knew of the lore, of Arthas’s betrayal and of Sylvanas’ rise to glory, but the keep held great potential if used properly.

Perhaps one day, it would be.

Ereish had been here for only an hour, and saw no signs of life – no scorpions, no insects, no skeletons of any sort – nor did she see any of the Forsaken that littered the sewers. Every ruined city she’d passed through had some sort of something going on, but not Lordaeron. It was… empty.

It almost scared her to continue into the castle’s inner chambers.

But, she did anyway.

Undercity was a completely different city than this one: while it reeked of death and blood with evil creatures crawling in its streets, this place was filled with a void. Even spirits did not grace her with their presence, whereas every other battlefield and tomb she’d crept into allowed her  _some_  reaction from the dead.

Lordaeron, though, held nothing.

From the corner of her eye she saw someone –  _did she recognize him?_  – but once the rogue turned to face the movement she saw nothing.

Ereish continued forward carefully through the broken city, her presence utterly alone.

Aura radiated from everything in this city, but nothing felt alive. It seemed…  _older_ than any entity she’d ever come into contact with, but it was so different, too. Inviting, almost.

Yet again she saw the movement as she entered the throne room, and swung around to face its direction quickly, calling out unsteadily, “Face me!” She flipped her daggers out of their holders on her hips, looking around the ruined room with a frenzied look on her face.

It took Ereish a few moments to realize her mind was simply playing tricks on her.

The dead had that effect on her.

She stumbled almost drunkenly to the throne and sat on it wearily, hunched over her knees as she struggled to make sense of what was happening to her. The rogue felt her senses slipping from her, time becoming nothingness.

She became another little piece of nothing in this void, and it almost felt peaceful.

Perfect.

Another presence suddenly filled the room, and Ereish leaped to her feet to face the new entity, daggers long forgotten as her mind struggled to work against the heavy aura trying to overtake her. Unease spread over her mind as a sudden dizzy spell overcame her, nearly knocking her back onto the floor. Grasping her head as she lowered to her knees, a low moan escaped her throat as her heart pounded like sludge in her chest.

Nothing felt right, and it terrified her for a moment as she began to see spots in her vision.

A voice whispered across the corridor to her in her confusion, causing the blood elf to freeze in her kneeling position before the throne: “ _Errrisshhhh…_ ”

She choked on air as she attempted to protest to the voice, her gaze lifting to stare up at the ghost of the man she had hoped to never see again.

He is dead. Ereish could barely get a single thought across, her mind becoming too befouled with fear.  _This place… must be…making me hallucinate, what else could this be…?_

Stalking closer to the fear-stricken rogue with his beautiful golden cape sweeping at his heels, the ghost stopped not even a meter before her and crouched to her level, a sinister grin on his face. Tutting, the male purred, cupping Ereish’s cheek with a cold, mail-covered hand, “My  _sssss_ weet, unsu _sssss_ pecting daughter. How naïve and foolish you have always been.” His breath sucked the air from her like a crypt being broken open, the rush pushing her back to seeing stars once again.

Horrified but still doubting her own eyes, Ereish refused to believe her stepfather stood before her. The entity before her held a nothingness to it, but those eyes that bore into her belonged to no other creature than him.

“Ohhhh, believe me,” he continued on in her silence, chuckling quietly. His gaze brightened, the hollow death knight-like eyes narrowing with laughter. “No other would  _sssss_ tand before you now but I.” He held his hands up as if to allow her to revel in his disgusting presence. “I serve a new master, and  _he_  allow _sssss_  all that I ask. And what I ask is  _you._ ”

Whispers and echoes reached Ereishkigall as the entity stood above her, uncertainty consuming her mind. 

This is what she deserved. This had to be Hell for the crimes she committed.

The creature continued to hum lowly, almost triumphantly, as the sinister whispers invading her mind began to lull her into submission. His eyes lowered to her hand suddenly, changing from its sickly pale green to a lifeless void as he growled angrily, jumping away from Ereish.

The voices in her head grew angry and shrill, but she couldn’t understand why. The vision before her wavered, turning smokey for a moment before completely dissipating altogether, along with all of Lordaeron.

She flung herself from her bed suddenly, hitting the floor with a hard thud. The warm drip from her nose was unnoticeable from the numbness the nightmare had given her, absolute terror seizing her body. Her body tingled as if she had been burned by fel fire, igniting every sense of hers to an overwhelming extent.

Looking around the room slowly, blood dripping down her cheek, it took Ereish minutes to remember where she was: an inn in the Valley of the Four Winds, an entire world away from Lordaeron. A little protection trinket was tucked within her tight grasp.

 _I am safe,_  she told herself as a mantra as she fingered the tassels on the trinket, looking it over carefully.  _Living or dead, he’s nowhere near me._

This experience only solidified the fact that she never wanted to go anywhere near Undercity for as long as Azeroth existed.

She’d tell Totality of the dream in the morning, if she remembered.


End file.
